


His Kisses Taste Like Ash

by Lauralot



Series: Your Mouth Is Like a Funeral [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Brock Rumlow can't gain Pierce's affection, he can damn well protect the person the Secretary does care about.</p><p>It doesn't make an awkward situation any better when the Soldier mistakes his commander's maintenance for caring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Kisses Taste Like Ash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bofurrific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofurrific/gifts).



> If you haven't read the previous installment, [His Mouth Is Filled with Honey,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2017857) I recommend that you do. However, the gist of it is that Brock Rumlow is emotionally needy and involved with Pierce, and Pierce is utterly indifferent to the relationship beyond his own satisfaction. He also enjoys flaunting his "relationship" with the Soldier in Rumlow's face, because he's a terrible person.

For the Winter Soldier, it’s a matter of obedience. 

The Secretary is his handler. He does whatever his handler commands, be it killing or fucking. By the Soldier’s estimation, he is equally skilled at either task. Maybe he is built for it, designed for both slitting throats and rocking in the Secretary’s lap. He doesn’t question whether his orders are within the parameters of his programming. Why would he? He is the Secretary’s. He is made to obey. He feels nothing in regards to his missions save for a dull thrum of pleasure when his handler is pleased. A kiss from the Secretary is a reward, a signal to continue, not a moment of intimacy. Not for the Soldier. 

For the Commander, a kiss appears to carry far more significance. 

When they stand in a hallway and the Secretary cups the Soldier’s face in his hands, bringing their lips to meet, the Soldier thinks that usually this touch is neither so gentle nor so public. But he does not really remember and it is what the Secretary wants. The Soldier has never been told to shut his eyes during a kiss, so he does not. There is a sound of footsteps and when the Commander steps around the corner, they stare at each other. 

The Commander’s face is full of words he doesn’t say, a language of feeling the Soldier cannot read because his own face is always blank. It makes him think he has done something wrong, but he is doing as the Secretary wants so that cannot be. The Secretary pulls the Soldier closer, deepens the kiss, and the Commander disappears back the way he came. 

During the mission, the Commander is rough, silent. In the Soldier’s flutters of memory this Commander was pleased with him, but now he glares no matter how perfectly the Soldier succeeds. He never has to ask what he’s done wrong because his handlers always tell him, but even as he is led to the chair no explanation is given. The Soldier can only hope to be better the next time he wakes. 

*

He doesn’t know if he has met this Commander before. The Soldier remembers commanders smiling at the sight of him or staring with wide eyes. This Commander’s eyes are downcast and his mouth is a thin line. He looks as though the Soldier has failed a mission, but he has just come out of the tank. What mission was there to fail at? 

The Commander stays close by him. His posture and the gritting of his teeth indicate that the Soldier should expect blows, but the Commander does not strike him. Rather, he _worries_ at the Soldier, taking his weapons to examine their functionality and tugging at the straps of his hostlers and clothing to be sure they are properly secured. 

It’s an irritation, a buzzing, needling itch beneath the skin. The Soldier is competent. More than competent. He has never failed, so they say. Yet this man regards him like…his mind supplies the word _invalid,_ though he doesn’t know the meaning. 

When the time comes to fulfill the objective, the Soldier is ruthless, efficient, destructive. The targets are decimated in under a minute. 

With his mouth still set in that thin line, the Commander sees none of that and instead focuses on a shallow cut across the Soldier’s palm. 

It will heal in less than ten minutes. Scrubbing at the wound with a sterile wipe as the Commander is doing will actually delay the healing, but he is not deterred. “Too damn _important_ to bring back damaged,” he mutters as the Soldier watches. 

Something stings in the Soldier’s chest, like the prick of an IV but also soft. Part of it is just the touching—the contact from doctors and the Secretary tickles as well—but there’s more. It should be irritating, as he can maintain himself, but it isn’t. It’s as if the Commander is seeing him as more than a weapon though that’s all the Soldier is. He leans in closer, makes it easier for the Commander to attend to him, but the Commander’s face remains cold. 

After, when the Secretary rewards the Soldier, he thinks of the Commander’s hand scouring his. The fucking and kisses feel nicer, but not better. 

*

He knows the Commander. He doesn’t remember a name or any missions he may have completed with the man, but he feels the knowing in his chest like an exposed nerve. It doesn’t hurt; it is an overload of sensation and it makes him rush to his Commander’s side once the doctors clear him to get up. 

His Commander goes tense like a body when electricity first strikes it. He neither smiles nor speaks, only motions for the Soldier to follow. While they are in transit to the mission, the Soldier sits beside his Commander. Their legs brush and the man inches away, inhaling sharply through his teeth. He leans back in to check the Soldier’s weapons and armor though the Soldier has already done that, but he will not meet the Soldier’s eyes. 

The mission goes well, because all of the Soldier’s missions go well. Sometimes he is praised after successes, but his Commander only checks him for injuries. He pushes the Soldier away softly, but his hand is so heavy and shaking that the Soldier thinks he wanted to shove him.

When they return to the base and the Secretary dismisses the team, telling the Soldier to remain, the look in his Commander’s eyes is one of the few the Soldier can read. It is murderous. 

The Soldier is designed to feel content when he succeeds. He feels hollow. 

“Am I inadequate?” he asks the Secretary later. He is kneeling on the floor of the Secretary’s kitchen, his head resting on the Secretary’s knee. He is not meant to speak but all he can see is his Commander’s eyes and the hatred in them. He is not meant to think but all he can do is wonder how he has failed. 

The Secretary slides a piece of strawberry between his lips. “You’re perfect.” The taste is beautiful, as is the praise, and the Soldier tells himself he craves those things more than rough touches he can barely remember.


End file.
